


Come Hell or High Water

by Escopeta



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Pirate, Background Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/My Unit | Byleth (One-Sided), Background Relationships, F/M, Friendship, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Rating May Change, Romance, Slow Burn, Strangers to Friends to Lovers, this is the pirate AU no one asked for lol
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-10
Updated: 2020-10-11
Packaged: 2021-03-06 03:02:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 15,769
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25816240
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Escopeta/pseuds/Escopeta
Summary: She's always lived quietly, doing her civic duty as a cleric alongside her uncle and cousin. A sedentary lifestyle she's never really minded. Until one day she meets a dashing pirate with an air of mystery who claims he knows something about her father's murder. She can choose to disbelieve the words of this man and go about her life as if nothing has happened. He's a rogue, after all.Or she can listen to her late father's advice, and follow her gut.{A Claudeleth pirate AU.}
Relationships: My Unit | Byleth/Claude von Riegan
Comments: 54
Kudos: 105





	1. Log 1: A Curious Meeting in the Tavern

#### Log 1: A Curious Meeting in the Tavern

_**Narroway, Holy Kingdom of Faerghus  
Lone Moon, 1785 **_  


“ _Papa, where are you going?_ ”

It was a simple question back then.

“ _Out. Be a good kid and don’t give your uncle any trouble, alright?_ ”

“ _How long are you going to be out?_ ” she asked him, holding her plush doll close to her chest.

“ _A while. Maybe a few days._ ” He paused for a minute, then knelt down in front of her. “ _Will you do me a favor, By?_ ”

She nodded.

Jeralt stared at her. Even when crouching, he was still so much bigger than her. He smiled slightly, a gentle hand on her head. “ _Promise me you’ll use your gut when you can’t make a decision. It’ll save you more than once. Make a life because you want it for yourself. Not because others ask you to. Can you promise me that?_ ”

With a single nod, she made her father smile. He then kissed her forehead, “ _Love you, By_ ,” before walking away.

“ _Love you too, Papa_ ,” she replied.

The last thing she remembers of him is his slight smile as he half turned away from her to open the front door. Then he exited, in the middle of the night, leaving her to stare at the entrance until her uncle came downstairs to ask why she was still up.

She never saw her father again.

Later that year, her uncle told her Jeralt’s body was found. An autopsy was done, but the only explanation for his death was that he had been stabbed in the back by a blade. A part of it was still stuck in him. Chipped off. Black as the night sky, and slightly curved.

Her uncle didn’t allow her to see him. Said he didn’t want her last memory of Jeralt to be his dead corpse. Informed her that he was cremated, and the jar of his remains is buried in a plot of the cemetery in Fhirdiad.

But that was 13 years ago. She and her small family have since moved on. Both figuratively, and literally.

Still, on this day, the day she was told her father was dead, she likes to honor him with a drink. He spent a lot of time in the taverns. Maybe since he often got tired of just hammering away in his smithy. One of the best in Fhirdiad at the time.

Or maybe because he missed his wife. Her mother, Sitri. Died when Byleth was only five. She doesn’t have a lot of memories of her.

In recent times, she, her uncle, and her younger cousin have been living in the port town of Narroway for three years now. Enough of a while that it’s not odd for the barkeep to recognize her. Gives her the usual. Her father loved his rum, and while she’s not really all that into alcohol or spirits and the like, she drinks it to feel connected to him. The regulars in the tavern know all too well the nature of her visits since the first time she stepped foot in here.

But to passing travelers, or other people finding a new haunt, it’s strange for them to see a cleric enjoying a pint in a tavern. Especially a female one.

Byleth keeps to herself as she slowly drinks from the mug. Her uncle always disapproved of her doing this. Does it once on her father’s birthday. Again for her own. One for the new year. And finally, for his death. She’s not exactly sure when he died. Just that it was during winter. She feels like he’s still here with her when she’s in the tavern. That’s why sometimes, she even drinks on special holidays, as that’s what he used to do too. (And then there are days she just comes in here when her station becomes too much.)

The tavern is warm. Well-lit by the modest chandeliers. The fireplace is going and idle chatter makes thinking almost impossible. She’s not really one to eavesdrop, but having nothing else to do, her ears wander now and again. Or sometimes, people will notice her in the dark little corner. Looking warm in her thick habit worn by the clergy at the local church. Hair hidden and her face framed with the required coif all nuns and most priests wear. Top of her head kept warm with her round cap, a plain white veil behind her.

So, it’s hard not to stand out.

She’ll often get people trying to confess their sins to her, and she always tells them that’s not her duty in the church. She’s a healer utilizing white magic. Just because she knows the holy texts of Seiros doesn’t mean she’s equipped to bear the weight of the sins people wish to unload onto her. (And when they try to show her an infliction, like a laceration with pus or an oddly angled toe, she says she’s on her break. To come by the church later if they really want to be healed—which preferably won’t be by her.)

There aren’t many honest folk in taverns. Most of them are up to things that she has no business learning about. The barkeep said a couple of years ago, he used to get a few pirates now and again. But not anymore. Once or twice she’s met a couple, but they never made trouble for her.

They’re just like the rest, confessing their secrets that don’t involve treasure. Even though she tells them that’s not what she’s here for. Though, she has gotten some interesting stories memorized. Ones she’s not sure are real. They might’ve been pulling her leg, especially since half the time they were drunk. But the tales were entertaining, at least.

Hard to believe pirates still ponder on the word of Seiros, considering all the pillaging and plundering they do. But maybe they think being nice to the clergy will spare them of an ill fate at the last second.

She likes listening to their stories, despite all the times her Uncle Seteth has scolded her. Tells her to be smart, and not associate with such ruffians. But she’s pretty pragmatic for a nun, she supposes. If they want to talk, she’ll let them talk, regardless of their ilk. Maybe that’s why she exasperates him with her blunt, almost nonchalant attitude.

Not like she asked for this career. But it’s one she does well, and helping people with her healing magic does make her feel good.

“This seat taken, Sister?”

Byleth looks up from staring at her mug. Even before she says anything, the stranger already pulls out the chair across from her and sits down. He has his own cup, filled with what, she doesn’t care.

The benefits of frequenting a tavern is that she can put names to faces of the usual crowd. But this one’s new. Very handsome too in her objective opinion. Well-defined jaw where facial hair grows, not reaching his chin. A mild beard of sorts. Wide shoulders. Thick eyebrows and a pleasant slope to his nose. Nice lips and an equally charming smile to boot. Short, but fluffy dark brown hair slicked back with a stubborn lock almost fashionably sticking out from his hairline. Warm brown skin.

She wonders if he’s from Duscur, or maybe beyond the Holy Kingdom of Faerghus. But it’s his green eyes that really get to her. Such a pretty hue.

Uncle Seteth’s reprimand is already echoing in her ears at letting her eyes wander. Not like nuns and priests aren’t allowed to marry, or court. Then again, he almost fainted after finding Flayn’s secret stash of erotic novels—and that wasn’t Byleth’s fault. She was just as surprised. Those were books even she hasn’t touched.

“You’ve already taken a seat,” she replies. “Me telling you to go ahead seems pointless now.”

He smiles at her. His teeth are white. Must have at least decent money to keep them looking like that. “Sorry, couldn’t help myself. Not every day I see a cleric in establishments of drink. Isn’t that against your teachings?”

So, he must not be from the expanse of Fódlan. Everyone in the three countries knows of the Seiros faith, including Duscurians, regardless of whether or not they decide to practice it.

“We’re allowed to drink,” she informs. “Just not often. Wine allotted once a week, and specifically with dinner. Preferably only on special occasion. Any other kind of alcoholic beverage is limited to once every three months. And by once, I mean just one cup.”

But, that’s a rule she’s sort of skirted on. Only in remembrance of her father, of course.

“Huh, interesting.” He leans back against the chair, an arm draped over it. With his other hand, he brings the mug up to his lips. “So, what’s a lady of the cloth like yourself doing here?”

“Tradition. A sort of toast to my father who died—was murdered, thirteen years ago. That’s the only reason I come here. Four times a year. Once for his birthday, once for mine, once for the new year, and once for his death. Sometimes more, like on certain holidays or other special circumstances. Otherwise, I prefer not to drink.”

His frown looks genuine when he says, “My condolences.”

Byleth shrugs. “I’ve had my chance to grieve, and I did. But getting stuck on the past helps no one.”

Even so, if she’s left alone to her thoughts for too long, she stews on the images of slaying whoever it is that killed Jeralt. Maybe that’s why Uncle Seteth taught her the ways of a cleric. Showed her how to heal, instead of how to injure. A path of revenge isn’t a well-paved road.

“You have a point there,” her table companion says after he takes a drink. “I prefer for the past to motivate me rather than anchor me.”

“A good choice.”

It grows quiet between them, save for the usual ruckus of the tavern. Byleth takes another drink of rum. There’s only half of it left now. She’ll have to leave once it’s finished.

“Say, Sister,” he starts up again, “do people bother you when you come here?”

“Not really. Most of them know why I visit. Newcomers, like yourself, usually ask me about it though since I’m an odd sight.”

“But in the most intriguing of ways, don’t you agree?”

“I don’t know,” she replies with another shrug. “Never thought of myself as particularly interesting.”

The stranger smiles again, taking another sip of his pint. His smile doesn’t reach his eyes.

“What’s your name, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“Byleth Eisner.” Her uncle always cautions her to not mention her name if she can. Though, he’s never said why. Just that it’s good practice. “Most people call me Sister Leth, though.”

Now the man’s smile falls, looking mildly surprised. It’s soon wiped away, replaced with a neutral expression. He glances over both his shoulders discreetly before he asks, “Eisner? Your mother’s surname, or your father’s?”

“My father’s. Why, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong, per se. Just that—every Eisner I’ve come across—no,” he rubs at his chin, “you don’t look much like… hmm, never mind.”

“Something made you react that way in surprise,” she says. “What is it?”

He regards her with a calculating gaze. When he stops rubbing at his chin, he asks, “Do you get a lot of pirates out here? This being a port town and all.”

“I’ve only lived in Narroway for three years. From what I’ve heard, pirates haven’t shown up for several winters now. Not since the Kingdom increased security in all the port towns and cities, fortifying them with more troops. But sometimes, it still does happen. Always on a small scale though. Never really been a panic.”

This town in particular got a good chunk of new soldiers stationed at the naval base. Most people just think it’s to better protect the average citizen from pirate attacks. But, there is a rumor going around among the upper echelons of Narroway, and even within the church. One she is choosing to vehemently disbelieve.

_Apparently_ , there are whispers that Crown Prince Dimitri is more than a little smitten with her. She’s not sure why, since they hardly interacted when her family still lived in Fhirdiad. She’s only known him for a few years. He frequented the cathedral there out of royal duty where her Uncle Seteth used to preach.

She hopes gossip is all it is—is going to choose to regard them as _rumors_ , nothing more. Byleth has no intention to become involved with anyone, let alone marry. Uncle Seteth would prefer she not be courted in general. Not after what almost happened to Flayn.

Kidnapped and nearly smuggled overseas under the guise of ‘marriage’. Since then, her father, Uncle Seteth, has been rightfully paranoid. No doubt he wants to spare his niece the risk of repeated history. Her poor cousin. At least she’s in much better spirits now.

Once whispers about the prince were known to him, Uncle Seteth had them move away from Fhirdiad to this modest port town of Narroway. Still within Blaiddyd territory, but at least too far that it’d be an inconvenience for the nobles living in the capital to try and sneak themselves into their lives. The excuse he used was, “Our talents in healing and prayer would be more consistently utilized in smaller and more humble communities.”

Even so, out of a concern for her—Flayn seems to believe—Dimitri had some of the best naval and infantry soldiers relocated here just to protect her. Byleth chooses to believe he’s just being smart about the division of his troops, to station them in places more at risk of pirate attacks. (She knows if she asks about the rumored other reason, he’ll deny it in that polite way of his.)

“I see,” the stranger says. “But don’t you think the pirates might’ve outsmarted the Kingdom soldiers by now? I wager some of them got crafty and are dressed as regular civilians to carry out their work.”

“Pirates have a particular way of looking. And smelling. I’d know if one was around here.”

He laughs. The stranger stares at her, that smile still on his face. Then he leans forward, his forearms resting on the table surface. “You know what I think?” He glances around subtly before continuing, “There’s probably a pirate or two in this tavern right now. Care to make a wager?” he asks with a wink.

Byleth eyes him, wondering if he’s speaking of himself. He doesn’t smell bad though. No rotted teeth or other poor personal hygiene. There are also plenty of people in here she doesn’t recognize, so it could be any one of them.

“Alright,” she starts, “I’ll play along,” even though some voice in the back of her head is calling her an idiot. “What’s the wager?”

The stranger lifts up his index finger. “One favor. If you win, I owe you. But if I win, then you owe me. Simple, right? So friend, what say you?”

Byleth isn’t a gambling woman. Never saw the need for such a thing. But maybe it’s in the spirit of her father that she’s being more risky, and agrees to this man’s wager. And she does like being owed favors (she gets a free meal out of them, usually, which is always welcome).

“Fine. How many chances do I get?”

Even if he tries to dupe her, she carries a dagger around for a reason. Jeralt taught her swordsmanship while he was alive. When he passed, Uncle Seteth took up the mantle of her combat tutor. For a priest, he’s surprisingly adept with weapons. He was more agreeable to continue her training too after Flayn was kidnapped.

Handsome Stranger ponders for a moment, rubbing at his jaw. Never takes his eyes off of her. “I’m not a man to give anyone an advantage over me under any circumstance. But I’ll admit I find you amusing, so, I’m willing to bend just a little.”

He holds up two fingers.

Byleth nods. “Okay.”

She glances around the tavern. Pays attention to body language. The folds in people’s clothes. Searching for an outline of a weapon or something. A scabbard. A pistol. Or even something round, like an explosive. Sees who looks unkempt. Skin damaged from the salty breeze of the sea.

There’s one man who looks like that, at the far edge of the bar. His hair is a little frizzled, and his clothes look more ragged than most. Frayed at the edges.

“That man there,” she says, discreetly pointing to him. “His coin purse is fat, sticking out of his shirt where he’s trying to hide it. No one who looks like that would _stay_ looking like that here. They’d buy themselves and their family better clothing with that much money. But as far as I’ve heard, even with all the treasure in the world, pirates will usually spend it on food and drink—which is what he’s doing. Also on better weapons, maintenance supplies for the ship, and so on.”

She looks at her conversational companion, meeting his eyes. They really are such a pretty variant of green. More on the warmer side, like a peridot. Or the clear waters surrounding Brigid. A place she hasn’t actually been to, but she’s heard many details of its beautiful beaches.

His hisses between his teeth, closing one eye as if cringing. Damn.

“You’d think so right?” he asks. “Has all the tell-tale signs of a sea farer. Alas, he’s just a common merchant sailor. You’ve got one more chance, friend.”

Byleth pouts. For once, she’s stumped. How is she supposed to answer? A lot of people in here look like they’d be a pirate in disguise. But she shouldn’t assume either. Most Faerghus citizens are people of humble origins. And it’s not the richest one of the two countries in Fódlan’s Division either. That would be Adrestia, according to what Dimitri had once told her.

A thought comes to her then, and she sits up straighter.

“It’s a trick. There isn’t a pirate in sight, is there?”

The man grins, almost from ear to ear. Goddess, she sucks at this. But she did her best. Maybe he’ll be sympathetic, and his favor will be mild and not something completely out of the question.

“Ooh,” he sucks in air between his clenched teeth, “good guess, but no. Looks like you lose. Although I’ll give you kudos for assuming it could’ve also been a trick. Shrewd thinking. I like that.”

Byleth sighs. “What do you want? I hope it’s not money, because I don’t really have a lot. Us clerics have low pay since we’re here to serve the people, not the other way around.” Which is fine, honestly, because she’s not a material person to begin with.

He eyes the groceries in her basket. Oh, right. She originally came out to town first and foremost to do shopping for dinner tonight. Well, at least she always saves the fish and meats for last, just in case circumstances like this happen.

“Yeah, I figured,” he agrees. “My prize—or favor, actually, has nothing to do with money. Instead, I want you to meet me later tonight. When the town sleeps. Down the road, where the mill is.”

“That’s it?”

“That’s it.”

Heeding her uncle’s concerns, this could very well be a trap. This man could try to kill her. Or worse. Better take comfortable clothing then so she can easily move around. And arm herself with hidden daggers. There’s also the option of just not meeting him. He doesn’t know her, or where she lives.

Ah, right though. She no longer has a house with her family. She lives within the grounds of the chapel. This man could still try to find her there. No point in giving Uncle Seteth a heart attack like that.

“Fine. I’ll meet you then.”

“Alright,” he says with a grin. “It’s a date. I’ll be expecting you, Sister Leth.”

He takes a long swig of his mug and then leaves it on the table. One last smirk at her before he’s out the door. She observes him as he walks. There’s no dagger, scabbard, or even a pistol on him. Is he just a shady merchant? They’ll sell to even the most seedy of people if they’re desperate enough. Including to the scourge of the seas.

Byleth takes her time in finishing her rum, carefully glancing around the tavern once more. Now there’s a higher number of people with the evening starting to fully roll around.

_I wonder who the pirate was in here?_

  
  
  
⟣ ⋯ ⟡ ⋯ ⟢  
  
  
  


She lies about her day being uneventful as she cooks dinner for her family. They have a modest quarters within the chapel grounds since her uncle is one of the primary priests here: a small common room with a kitchen and reading area, two bedrooms (one for him, and one she shares with Flayn), and a bathing room with a latrine attached in a separate space.

“You make the most marvelous fish, Leth!” Flayn chirps. She hums as she takes another bite out of her trout.

“Thanks. I try to make meals edible.”

Uncle Seteth certainly can’t cook, and neither can Flayn. Jeralt was the best at it, but his food was always bland. She was told Sitri was wonderful at it though, as if she were a professional chef in a noble’s estate. And, well, after she passed, for everyone else in the family to be terrible in the kitchen just wouldn’t do.

Byleth taught herself, reading her mother’s cookbook of personal recipes. Especially after Jeralt died. Even if his food was under seasoned, at least it was edible. She can’t say the same of the cooking that comes from her remaining two relatives.

“You appear to be getting better at this every day,” Uncle Seteth tells her with a slight smile. “Although, I suppose I should be the one to prepare our meals. You are mere children after all.”

“Uncle, I’m twenty-one.”

“Well, I meant to me. Even if you happen to be a young lady, it is still my responsibility to look after you. I…,” he frowns, knife lightly clinking on the plate, “promised your father I would in the event something happened to him. And I do not take that promise lightly.”

“I know, Uncle,” she says softly, poking her fork through the greens she made alongside the fish.

The crackle from the fireplace is the only sound between them for a few moments after that.

Not much else is said at the dinner table. Uncle Seteth goes over what tomorrow’s duties will be. Byleth is to assist him in a baptism and Flayn is to be part of the choir. The rest of the day will be spent in the sick bay, tending to those who have colds or other inflictions.

Wintertime in Faerghus is the worst time of every year. It’s why Byleth tries to be smart with her spending. Only buying what her family will need, and not the possibilities. Food shortages are common, and one too many a time the church has had the duty of keeping it stored to properly ration it out to the commoners. The nobles almost never need their assistance, on the other hand.

If she can do her small part and only take what she needs, then maybe that will help feed others who need it more.

Once all lanterns are put out, and her uncle and cousin have gone to sleep, Byleth dresses in thick stockings and warm trousers. A long-sleeved shirt and a hooded coat. She keeps her hair down, tied back in a loose ponytail.

Quietly she takes out her dagger from a drawer and then lightly steps out of the room, careful to not let her boots clop on the floor. She closes the bedroom door softly, and then wraps a scarf around her neck as she heads outside.

Not bringing a lantern with her is probably a bad idea. But she doesn’t want to get caught, or alert anyone to her presence. And because of that, it’s also probably a bad idea to sneak Petunia out of the stables at this time of night. But the mare has always been true to Jeralt whenever he needed her to do something. Byleth has just as much faith in the ol’ gal as her father did.

A silver lining of tonight is that the skies are clear and the moon shines bright, reflecting off the still, white snow. It eases her trips through the backroads of the town. The ones with dirt. The ones paved with stone will surely draw attention from the soldiers doing their night patrols.

Byleth soon comes to the familiar path that takes her to the mill just outside of town. There’s nothing here except that, so not many people come this way. The owners are also asleep, if the dark windows of their house are anything to go by.

She’s not sure where to meet the mysterious individual from earlier though.

“Come on girl, let’s see if we can find him.”

Petunia is steered around the mill, but it’s not until she gets to a small clearing in the nearby forest that she sees the tavern stranger. He has a lantern lit, one that’s bright enough to illuminate the little glade.

Like earlier, he has that peculiar smile on his face as he crosses his arms over his chest. Much like her, he’s dressed for the cold winter night in thick clothes that almost look like they’re lined with… fur? How could he afford that? Definitely some kind of merchant.

“Alright, I’m here.” She hops off her horse, boots crunching in the snow. As she approaches, she’s suddenly aware of how much taller he is than her. She’s sad to admit she’s on the shorter side when it comes to height, even to some other women. “What do you want? I’m not giving you sex.”

He laughs, reminiscent of the one back at the tavern. His smile looks a bit more genuine now. “Oh no, that’s not what I want. I wouldn’t dare defile a lady of faith such as yourself. And while I’m all for being a little more adventurous when in the throughs of passion, I’d rather not freeze off the family jewels, you see.”

The handsome stranger walks closer. Sharp shadows are cast on his face from the lantern between them. “The favor that I want, however, still requires lively movement.” He tosses her a scabbard. “Duel me.”

She catches it in her hand. It’s pretty plain. Nothing notable about it. Just black with silver corners. Kind of thin, so the sword must be as well.

“What?” she says, staring at the thing before looking up at him.

“Exactly what you heard.” He unsheathes his sword—cutlass, actually. Like the kind that…

Oh goddess.

“ _You’re_ the pirate?”

He twirls the weapon by the hilt in his hand. “Guilty as charged,” comes his reply, complete with a charming smile and a wink. “I look pretty good for one, huh?” He spreads out his arms, as if presenting himself on a stage.

_What have I gotten myself into?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Here I am again with another Claudeleth fic. My pet project of sorts because I'm a sucker for pirate AUs since that kind of "aesthetic" is something I've liked ever since I was little. (The romanticized version, anyway.) ~~Also I think post-timeskip Claude would look absolutely fucking sexy dressed as a pirate, so~~.
> 
> I have this whole story brainstormed from start to finish thanks to a friend (you know who you are!!), so I know where I'm going with it. However, I still need to do some research in addition to fine tuning the more meticulous details in the middle section of the plot. But I wanted this first chapter up as a "teaser trailer" of sorts. Y'know, like the kind movies release a year in advance before the actual film is scheduled to show in the theaters. It's also a way for me to gauge interest in this AU from the Claudeleth community.
> 
> Originally, this was going to involve twin Byleths, with Bylad ending up with Dimitri and Claude ending up with Bylass. But then I decided to save that Dimitri/Bylad content for a potential future fic instead. Yes, I still have plans for our boar prince in this work. They will be nice, I promise. ~~...By the time we reach the end anyway~~.
> 
> Unfortunately, I can only write chapters for this work on the weekends because of health-related reasons. It's also not a priority fic. (My 3H novelization one is.) So I won't update this again or start updating consistently until I have the next 15 chapters completed. Which probably won't be until sometime next year in early spring. Or maybe late this year. I really can't say right now. Again, it depends on my health.
> 
> Hope you liked this teaser though, and I look forward to sharing the rest with you when I get there! 💖
> 
> Fun fact: the phrase "come hell or high water" is relatively new since it was first used around the 1800s, I believe (so a time after the real world's "golden age" of piracy happened), but I thought it'd be a fitting title for the tone of this work anyway. I was going to make "water" plural to allude to the seas, but, it sounded weird so I left it as is. 😅


	2. Log 2: They’re Neither Lies, nor Rumors

#### Log 2: They’re Neither Lies, nor Rumors

_**Narroway, Holy Kingdom of Faerghus  
Lone Moon, 1785 **_ ****

She has no idea what the hell is going on.

First this man convinces her to meet him at night, in the middle of winter. Then he reveals his favor to be a duel with her. And now she’s discovered that he was the pirate he spoke of hiding in the tavern.

But she can’t contemplate much on that. Not when he lunges at her with his very sharp and very real cutlass that she blocks with the scabbard.

Unsheathing the sword, she meets every one of his strikes. The metal’s loud clanking is a bit concerning. She doesn’t want the mill owners to wake up and wander over here to figure out the cause of the ruckus. Byleth keeps her distance, making sure to be further than arm’s length away from him. He’s not giving her any quarter as his fast footwork forces her to dance around the lantern to block his strikes.

He tests her, striking in quick succession, all of which she blocks. With the lantern between them, they prowl around it, one foot over the other. Practiced steps softly crunching in the snow as they hold eye contact. Then he lunges again, sweeping low which she avoids with a twirl on her heel, her sword arm swiping around to catch him off guard. But he swoops out of the way and nearly slices at her side before she’s turning and thrusting, narrowly missing his left arm.

The pirate smiles at her, almost mirthfully as he takes another jab at her. Around the warm light they go, and honestly, it feels good to get some practice in. Make her muscles work again as she dodges and parries. She nearly strikes him in the face but he blocks her, their swords creating an X as both of them hold firm against the other’s pressure from their clashed stance.

His grin is almost infectious, a twinkle to his eye as he pushes her back and they jerk apart. She tries to put space between them again as she swipes the point of her sword at him, but then he steps past the lantern—and she doesn’t know why it catches her by surprise. She thought that was their boundary—but why would she even expect—?

Byleth’s sword is knocked out of her grasp as he sweeps down and up, but that’s his mistake.

She plants her hands on the ground and twirls low, knocking him off his feet with a swerving kick. As she’s turning back around, she reaches into her sleeve and pulls out her dagger, lunging at him with her arm raised since he’s on the ground now and—

He aims a loaded pistol at her, and she stops, frozen in mid-action. Facing its barrel, almost right between her eyes.

“You brought a gun to a blade fight?” she asks, carefully watching his thumb to see if it moves onto the lock of the firearm. Waiting for that _click_ of danger.

The pirate grins widely. “In a duel against a pirate, you brought the assumption that your opponent would play fair? Oh, milady, just because a man might be handsome doesn’t mean he’s trustworthy.”

It’s not until she puts her dagger away that he stops pointing the pistol at her. He picks up his cutlass to sheathe it as he says, “I think that’s enough to convince me.”

“Convince you of what?” she asks, as she slips the borrowed sword back in its scabbard.

She returns it to him and he takes it, securing it on the belt at his hip. “That you’re trained even a little in the art of swordplay. Normally that’d be strange for a cleric to know how to do, but expected from Jeralt Eisner’s child.”

Byleth suddenly wants the dagger back in her hand. Her fingers twitch for it.

“How do you know him?” Even regulars at his old job didn’t know her father’s name. They all just called him ‘Smithy’ since it’s where he worked. And he never bothered to correct them before. He once told Byleth he liked the nickname, uncreative as it was.

“How much do you know your own father?” the pirate counters.

Apparently less than this stranger seems to. She’s unsure if she should talk, but, it’s clear he knows something she doesn’t. So she tells him he worked as a blacksmith in Fhirdiad before, one of the best in the city that the royal family constantly commissioned him. He liked to drink, and to fish. He also liked to practice with the weapons he made. Even taught her how to use them, despite people thinking it really wasn’t fitting for a girl. But he was pretty lax with whatever roles were ‘expected’ of the sexes. Thought they were stupid.

“Jeralt was a smithy huh? And you believed him?”

Byleth narrows her eyes at the pirate. “I had no reason to _dis_ believe it. I would watch him sometimes in his workshop.”

“Did he ever tell you what he did before?”

“No.”

Handsome Stranger glances around, stepping closer to the lantern. He doesn’t move any farther than that, so Byleth is inclined to approach him. His voice is hushed when he says, “He was known as the Blade Breaker, the most fearsome pirate captain on the high seas.”

She’s not sure what to say through her paralyzing surprise. Not sure if this guy is trying to play her for whatever agenda he has. But he neither smiles when he says it, nor is there a mischievous twinkle to his eyes.

When she’s silent for too long, he continues, “But there were rumors he left because he fell in love. No one knew with who. She was just some nobody from the southern half of Faerghus. He was never seen again out in the open waters.”

“…Why are you telling me this?”

“Because it was rumored he had a child—how could he not? Leaving his wealth and freedom for a woman? You only do that if you’re planning to settle. And now I see that he did. Your fighting style is a lot like his. Swift in strikes, brutal in thrusts. Quick footwork that makes it seem like you’re fighting against a maelstrom. _You’re_ the rumored child,” he says gleefully, pointing to her slowly. “Though, I guess no one has found you yet because everyone assumed the child would be a son. That’s just ignorant thinking right there.”

How is she supposed to respond to that? For her entire life, she knew Jeralt as a blacksmith. Never once did he ever hint he was anything but that. Although, maybe his favorite drink being rum should’ve been a clue. But that’s not a beverage exclusively liked by pirates. …Right?

In hindsight, it _was_ strange he was so adept in swordplay. And axe-wielding. And lancefaire. And knew how to shoot from a pistol with such a quick draw and meticulous precision.

“The wheels are turning in your head, aren’t they?” the pirate guesses. “Bet you’re putting two and two together from whatever you knew of your father.”

“Did _you_ know him?” she finally asks.

“No.” He shakes his head. “His glory days were before my time.”

“Then why are you telling me all of this? Wouldn’t I have been better off not knowing ever?”

He stares at her, crossing his arms. “What do you know about your father’s death?”

Byleth shrugs. “His body was found buried in the snow. His wound had frozen, and inside it was a piece of the blade that killed him. People think it was an accident. Like maybe someone tried to steal from him or something.”

“And what do _you_ think?”

She looks down at the lantern as its light continues to flicker between them. “He was murdered intentionally. My father may have been just a blacksmith, but, he was a fighter. He wouldn’t lose. And if you’re saying he was even a feared pirate captain, well… it doesn’t add up. It was planned. Had to be.”

The rogue stranger agrees with a hum. “But you know what happens now, right?” When she gives him a curious look, he continues, “Whoever killed him is coming after you and your family next.”

“…What?”

He explains that, before he disbanded his pirate crew, Jeralt hid a great treasure somewhere out in the open waters. Only his first mate knows where it is, but he died in an ambush. Most likely by the same people who killed Jeralt. The rest of his crew were picked off one by one. This mystery enemy is likely looking for the map he hid, trying to go through every person rumored to have sailed with the Blade Breaker.

_Is that why he left all those years ago? To… protect me? Was he ever going to come back?_

“If you found me,” she starts, swallowing her growing worry, “then that means those people will find me too, won’t they?”

“Well, I only found you because I’m a very meticulous fact-checker. And resilient. Those murderers don’t have the type of endurance I do, so they most likely go after whoever is even suspected of having been in Jeralt’s old crew. Killing indiscriminatingly, even if they had nothing to do with your father.”

“That’s not at all comforting, pirate.”

He grins. “No, it’s not. These are only assumptions of course, but reasonable ones. It’s why I’m glad I found _the_ only child of Jeralt. Although you look nothing like him, and you’ve been a cleric for a long time. He probably let that happen on purpose.”

“Are you saying my uncle and cousin aren’t related to me? They’re relatives of my mother.”

“No, I’m sure they’re your blood. After all, no one knows who he fell in love with, where she came from exactly, and so on. He probably did that on purpose too. Pirates love the sea, and for him to live so far inland—where less people have contact with pirates—was a shrewd strategy.”

Byleth stares at him, narrowing her eyes. But he doesn’t flinch, and the grin—while relaxed—doesn’t falter. He’s still so unknown to her, no matter how damn attractive she thinks he is. And people like him, pirates, don’t do things for free.

“What do you want?” she asks sharply. “His treasure map? Because I sure as hell don’t know where it is. Everything you’ve just told me is brand new information.”

“You’re correct: I’m warning you because he likely didn’t get rid of that map. He hid it somewhere, most likely. And these mystery killers are after it. Meaning, they’ll go through you, your uncle, and your cousin if they have to. Once they find the rest of his crew and get what they need from them, you’re likely the next targets. The last links to the Blade Breaker.”

The dagger feels heavy now on her hip. “And what exactly is this treasure?”

Shrugging, he replies, “Dunno, but it’s something important, I’ll bet.”

“Well you wasted your time, because I don’t have any answers for you.”

“On the contrary.” He saunters over to her, the lantern from below casting dark flickering shapes across his face. “Now that I have proof you’re his rumored child, I’m here to recruit you to join my crew.”

“ _What_?”

She has to be asleep right now. This _has_ to be a dream.

When she can only respond with a slack jaw, he grins wider. “C’mon, you, me, and my crew?” He holds out his arms, almost as if presenting himself like a fine platter of food. “We could be great together.”

Byleth continues to stare, dumbfounded, and he tries again with, “Look, you can fight well, and you’re skeptical, plus you know healing magic. But more importantly, you’re _also_ in danger. If you join my crew, we can offer you safety. And great pay. Healers and doctors are prized aboard every pirate ship out there.”

She steps away, slowly shaking her head. “I’m not leaving my uncle and cousin to die—the only relatives I have left in this world. If these killers are after us, then I’ll protect them. My uncle isn’t a slouch either.”

“Oh? Do you know how many allies these murderers have at their disposal?”

She doesn’t.

“Do you know what any of them look like? The types of weapons they use? How far away they are from finding you?”

When she remains silent, he says smugly, “Thought so.”

“My family would never consent to joining,” she reasons. “Uncle Seteth hates pirates, and Flayn is too gentle for violence, or a constant wandering life. And I am _not_ leaving them.”

The handsome stranger sighs, and shrugs. “Alright. But you can’t say I didn’t warn you.”

He picks up the lantern by its handle and attaches it to the saddle of his own horse. She wonders if he stole it, since she doubts pirates have much need for pack animals aboard their ships. This man pretty much ignores her now as he slings himself up and over his steed.

“Is that it?” she asks.

“Yep,” he replies, popping the ‘p’. “I guess this info is a freebie to you then since I’m _obviously_ not getting anything out of it. Not what I wanted anyway. But at least it’s a testament to my highly refined tracking skills.”

Bringing the horse closer to her, he says, “We’re likely to not meet again since you’re very much a landlubber, and I’m an adventurous spirit of the vast seas. But, I’ll still be in Faerghus waters until the end of this month. So, if you change your mind, our last stop will be in Fhirdiad. Otherwise, good luck to you.”

He shakes his head dismissively. “Actually, luck doesn’t exist. Everything happens for a reason, so, I hope your fate is merciful, friend.”

The handsome pirate gives her a smile, and a wave, before he’s riding away on his horse. The lantern’s light goes out before he even leaves the forest, and she’s left alone with Petunia underneath the frigid, and silent moon.

  
  
  
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Unfortunately, she continuously ruminates over that encounter days later. So much so that she keeps getting distracted when helping Uncle Seteth with sermons or assisting the ailing in the sick bay. And when she tells him it’s nothing, his furrowed brow clearly says he doesn’t believe her one bit.

At dinner one day is when he finally confronts her about it in the privacy of their little abode.

“Byleth, please,” he starts gently. “Something is causing you great trouble. You have never been this preoccupied before. If you cannot concentrate, then you can’t heal properly. This is what makes you such a fantastic nun, because of your focus. But you are slipping.”

It’s Flayn’s sweet, worried frown from beside him that finally breaks her.

Sighing heavily, Byleth relents. “I met a pirate a few days ago in the tavern.”

Uncle Seteth sputters, nearly tossing his fork onto the table. “I thought I had advised you not to continue to frequent such places! What did he do to you? Did he seduce you and defile you? They’re known for having a _very_ avid appreciation for women.”

“No! You know I wouldn’t ever let anyone close to me in that way. He was chatty, and actually friendly.”

Flayn grins, leaning closer. “Ooh, was he dashingly handsome?!”

“Flayn!” the girl’s father scolds. “That is _not_ what you should be—”

“Yes, he was,” Byleth admits. Her cousin squeals, clasping her delicate hands together before pressing them against her chest. “He’s actually the most attractive man I’ve ever seen in my entire life,” she adds with absolute seriousness. “Both in face, and what I could assume from his body.”

Uncle Seteth looks like he’s about to have a fainting spell again.

(It’s not as if this is the first time she’s admitted to liking how a man looks. The only other time was when she mentioned Dimitri’s childhood friend, Sylvain, was amazingly good-looking. But it was a fact, not a personal opinion. Though, her uncle probably got so bothered because the redhead is also a known philanderer. Well, not like she gets to choose who she does or doesn’t find attractive.)

He doesn’t recover until she’s finished indulging Flayn on very brief details about how the pirate looked. Stating that the most alluring thing about him were his green eyes. So absolutely pretty, like gemstones, that sparkled when he was being cunning.

“Oh goodness,” Flayn fans herself with her hand, “how I wish I could’ve seen him myself!”

“Do _not_ ,” her uncle starts, “encourage your cousin with—,” he sighs loudly, and heavily. At this point, she’s not sure if he’s talking to her, or to Flayn.

Before he can continue scolding either of them, though, Byleth passes along the information that the mystery man knew of Jeralt. That he was a pirate known as the Blade Breaker. That his death was likely not accidental, and that he’s hidden a treasure map of some kind before he left that life of a wanted sea farer.

And that there are people coming for her, and most likely her last remaining relatives, as a result.

The mood at the dinner table becomes tense after that.

“Uncle,” Byleth starts, “did you know about this? That my father was really an infamous pirate captain all these years?”

He takes way too long in answering, so it’s how she knows she’s only getting half-truths from him when he replies, “I had my suspicions. But he took his time courting your mother, and nothing bad happened. Not even after they wed, or when you were born. Although, I suppose that explains why he did not have any family invited for their matrimony.”

“Do you believe then what that pirate told me?”

Seteth sighs silently. “He could have just been trying to rile you up. But one thing is for sure: your father was likely a rogue of some kind before he turned over a new leaf after meeting Sitri. If there are people after him—if that is why he was killed, then… I suppose it would not be far-fetched.”

“Byleth,” Flayn starts, frowning, “do you believe that man? That there are… people after us?”

“I don’t know,” she answers honestly. “And if there are, they’d be wasting their time because I don’t know about this rumored treasure map he apparently had. But if my father left all those years ago to protect me and this little family… I can believe that much, at least.”

Conversation about the topic dies down after a long pause. Uncle Seteth changes the subject to tomorrow’s duties, as always. And a half-hearted scolding to not go back to the tavern again.

The possibility of them being hunted down stays with her throughout the night, and she doesn’t get much sleep because of it. Not even when the window in her room alights with the coming dawn during this cold winter month.

  
  
  
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“Does this help?” she asks her current patient. An elderly man with a bum leg she managed to mend after setting his bone back in place to the knee joint. But he’ll have to stay in bed for a while until it fully heals.

“Yes, it does, Sister Leth,” he replies with a tired smile. The wrinkles in his face make his eyes look smaller when he does. He takes her hand, and pats it gently with his other one. “As gracious as you are beautiful.”

“Alright, Henry. You’re not getting extra rations for empty flattery,” she replies lightly with a slight smile as she fluffs his pillow.

He laughs in that way tired old people do, without opening their mouths. The only evidence of it from the hum in his throat and the stuttered movements of his chest. The man lays back down as she tucks him in to keep him warm. He calls her an angel, and then she’s off to return the supplies she used to make the cast for his leg.

When she’s putting away the leftover materials, one of the nuns taps her on the shoulder and tells her there’s someone here to see her. The woman points to the doorway where a familiar figure is waiting.

Byleth hurries to him, a smile on her face. “Ashe, what are you doing here?”

His own smile is bright as he hugs her gently in greeting. “Sorry I dropped by unannounced. But I was in the neighborhood.”

Ashe is one of the people she had met back in Fhirdiad. An adopted son of a lord named Lonato. The boy was sent to train at the school there to become a proper knight along with several other Faerghus noble children. Part of their duties was to attend mass at least once a week, so she often saw him. He’s grown taller since that first meeting several years back. His silver hair is still short, and his green eyes still kind. But the baby fat from his cheeks has shaved off to make his face more defined.

“Gaspard territory is a ways from here,” she replies.

“Oh no, I meant that I was at the Kingdom capital to do some business for my father. And since I was there, well, His Highness asked me to deliver this.”

He hands her an envelope, secured with a wax seal brandishing the emblem from the Blaiddyd royal family. If he’s giving it to her in public, it must not be a personal matter. And yet she wishes he would’ve at least taken her outside or something once she reads the contents of the letter.

Invitation, actually. Written in a sweeping, elegant cursive. Dedue probably wrote this for his liege.

> _Miss Byleth Eisner_
> 
> _You are hereby cordially invited to His Royal Highness’s annual ball for the new year, to take place on the 1 st of the Great Tree Moon.  
> _ _Due to your financial circumstances, appropriate attire will be provided for you at your discretion.  
>  The celebration is to be held in the evening at—_

“A… ball? For the new year?”

“Yup,” he replies with a nod. “His Highness wanted me to personally deliver the message so it doesn’t get lost this time.”

Oh, yes. ‘This time’. Dimitri has invited her to several different balls even after she moved away from Fhirdiad. But every time he writes her a follow-up letter to see if she received it, she lies and says it got lost in transit, or she was so busy with her cleric work that it slipped her mind.

(No, it’s just that she really doesn’t want to go to one of those stuffy parties.)

“Well,” she folds it back in its envelope, “thank you for this, Ashe. I suppose it is almost the new year again, huh?”

If he thinks she’s without enthusiasm, he doesn’t voice it. Instead he merely agrees with a hum. “You’re always so busy, Leth. I’m not surprised it slipped your notice. But he also wanted me to deliver it on the off-chance you can come this time. He asked me to escort you, but the invitation is also extended to Seteth and Flayn.”

Uh-oh. She doesn’t like the sound of that. ‘Escort’ her? For what? Does Dimitri think she doesn’t want to travel to Fhirdiad because of bandits on the road or something? Or… does he want to ensure her safety because he’s smitten with her?

 _Rumored_ to be smitten with her, that is.

Still, she gives Ashe the sincerest smile she can muster right now, and thanks him.

He leaves after that, informing that he and his men are staying at the local lord’s estate for the time being. Something about also having business here in this port town (one she thinks isn’t of any real significance to the Kingdom). Should she decide to attend, she just needs to let him know and then they’ll be off.

She unceremoniously stuffs the letter within her coat.

When she takes her break to have lunch, other nuns sit next to her at one of the tables in the community dining room, including Flayn. From the smiles on their faces, Byleth already knows what it is they want to chat about. Boy, gossip sure travels surprisingly fast in a place like the church, doesn’t it?

“Is it true?” Flayn asks with sparkling eyes. And Byleth can’t ever find it in herself to be mad at her cousin. It’s like she’s under some kind of spell from the adorable girl. “That the prince sent you a personal invitation to a ball?”

“Oh are you going to attend?” one of the other clerics asks her. “You ought to! It’s not every day that someone like us gets invited to the palace!”

“You _must_ go,” a second says, “and tell us how it is!”

“How romantic,” remarks a third, nearly swooning over her bowl of soup, “to have His Highness’s attention! Dancing together at the ball in all your finery—oh and you’d look so absolutely lovely, Sister Leth!”

These women need to get out more. Maybe the church should highly consider being a little more loose about extracurricular activities.

“I have a lot of work to do here,” she replies, and then dips her bread roll in her chicken broth. “Besides, traveling during winter is terrible. And Uncle Seteth would want me to stay too.”

“Oh but I’m sure Flayn can convince him, right?” and the woman turns to the girl, who nods so rapidly, Byleth fears her head might fall off.

“Yes, I absolutely will! Byleth is an adult, and Father can’t keep her in the cozy little cage of our home forever!”

Byleth ignores their chatter of their contrived, fantasy romance between her and Dimitri. She knows they must be happy for her since they can’t experience this life themselves, but she’s really not comfortable with her… _imagined_ love life being along the same vein as a novel. Knowing her fellow clerics don’t mean any harm, though, she supposes it’s okay this is how they get their entertainment. Not like there’s a lot to do in Narroway. It’s not a city like Fhirdiad is, so recreational activities are limited.

“So are you going to go?” a fourth cleric asks as Byleth is half-way done with her chicken soup.

“Probably not,” she replies honestly before slurping up the next spoonful. “I’m not really good at mingling with the nobility that’ll be there.”

And by that, she means she can’t stand most of them. With a few exceptions, like Ashe, and Dimitri’s childhood friends, aside from the prince himself.

That response dampens some of the clerics’ moods, but Byleth doesn’t particularly care. Especially not when it makes the lunch hour a lot more quiet so she can finish her food and get back to work in the sick bay.

Flayn keeps talking about it though as she joins Byleth today in the shopping. When they get to the fish market, and Flayn is bartering with one of the merchants, Byleth glances to the docks at all the ships there. None of them look out of place, or decorated like the pirate ships are said to be. No jolly roger in sight either, although she supposes any pirate with half a brain wouldn’t actually fly it while docked in a port heavily guarded by the Kingdom navy.

“Are you looking for him?”

Her cousin’s voice brings her attention back to the task at hand. She asks the merchant how much the fish for today will end up costing, and she pays him the reduced price Flayn managed to squeeze out of him with her cute charms.

“Looking for who?” Byleth asks as they make their way back to the church with a basket full of ingredients for today’s supper.

“That pirate you met the other day,” Flayn whispers. “I saw you back there, gazing out at the port.”

“No, I’m not looking for him. I guess I was just curious that he said they hide in plain these days.”

When they get back onto the chapel grounds, Flayn doesn’t speak until Byleth is unlocking the door to their home.

“I’m sorry for earlier,” she starts. “When I became enthralled with the fantasy of you and Dimitri. I know part of the reason we fled is because you do not have feelings for him, and didn’t want to find out if the rumors were true.”

“It’s okay, Flayn.” The door finally creaks open and they walk in. “I know you and the other girls didn’t mean any harm by it.”

Her cousin is quiet as she sets out the ingredients on the table meanwhile Byleth starts the flames in the fireplace to warm up the small house. And Flayn continues to be mum as she helps her wash and cut everything in preparation. Quiet still as she sits at the table, watching Byleth cook.

“Leth, would you ever want to… be with someone?”

She shrugs, not turning to her. “I don’t know. I don’t think I’d be a good partner, or good at romance.”

Flayn giggles lightly. “I do not think anyone is truly ready to be engaged in romance. There’s a trial and error to it, I’m sure.”

“Perhaps. I’m content with this life though, honestly. Living with you and Uncle, and helping people with my healing magic. I don’t think I’d like the life of a noblewoman. Or a… queen.”

Flayn hums thoughtfully. Byleth doesn’t need to turn around to imagine her pensive pout as she looks up at the ceiling.

“I don’t see you as one either, just because I know you like our simplistic lifestyle. But,” and she takes a pause here, “if you could get away, and experience something new, would you?”

She knows the younger girl hungers for adventure, but there’s still an underlying fear something can happen to her. While Flayn has mostly recovered from her trauma of being kidnapped, Byleth has noticed she’s less eager to leave town for any reason. Instead, she absorbs herself in fiction novels. Probably why she imagines Byleth in all of these scenarios, because she herself lost the enthusiasm to leave the comfort of her family.

“Maybe,” she replies, and Flayn doesn’t ask her more than that.

At dinner, when Uncle Seteth is finally home, Byleth tells him of the invitation, which he dismisses. But he does note that Ashe went to him in private, something that surprised him. Said on Dimitri’s instructions to tell Seteth about it to perhaps convince him to let Byleth attend, and he’s more than welcome to come along too with Flayn.

“I will say this about him,” he starts as he helps wash the dishes. “He is quite persistent. As much as I do not wish to entertain the thought, it’s becoming increasingly difficult to believe these whispers of him being romantically inclined to you are just rumors, Byleth.”

“Even if he is, I’m not,” she replies firmly as she dries the forks. “I just want to carry out my work here until my end days.”

“Which I understand. And it is why I told Ashe it’s ultimately your decision.”

That may be true, but, she knows Dimitri will just send her another invitation the next year. Or for the founding day of Faerghus, or his next birthday. Or any other big holiday. At some point, she’ll have to politely ask about his true intentions. But until then, she’ll pretend they don’t exist.

  
  
  
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Sleep is a luxury, she supposes, because she can’t fall into a slumber once again. Too many thoughts rolling about in her head. And she can’t exactly read because the light from the oil lamp might wake up Flayn. But maybe if she has a late night snack, it’ll make her full enough to become drowsy, and thus come crawling back to bed.

Byleth wraps herself up in a robe and goes to light a candle. But just as she’s about to set flame to the wick, she hears a floorboard creak. And not in the adjacent room where Uncle Seteth is sleeping.

She tiptoes to the door, opening it just a smidge. The windows in the main room of the house give enough moonlight that she can see the silhouettes of all the furniture.

And it’s how she sees the outline of a stranger creeping around. Discreetly looking through drawers, and testing the floorboards gently with their shoe.

Byleth slowly walks to her bedside table and takes out the dagger Jeralt gifted her for her 7th birthday, one she keeps hidden in the false bottom of the single drawer.

She goes back to the door to peek out into the main room, but the figure is gone. Steeling her nerves, knowing it’s probably not a good idea to be out in the open, she creeps into the main room anyway. Her eyes dart from one piece of furniture to the next, checking to see if the intruder might be hiding behind any of them.

The hair at the back of her neck starts to prickle.

In the reflection of the nearest kitchen knife, she sees the top of their head. But she keeps going forward, as if she doesn’t notice them stalking behind her.

Then she swipes the thing off the counter and turns sharply on her heel, tossing it at the presence behind her.

Either they weren’t expecting her to have fast reflexes, or they just suck at melee combat. Because the knife embeds itself in their shoulder and they cry out. Byleth lunges at them with her dagger and they dodge, knocking over a chair. But they don’t get any further before she’s slashing her blade at their face, them merely dodging it by a fraction.

In their palm bubbles an orb of dark magic, and she jumps out of the way as they send it hurling toward her. But she dives low and slices the dagger hard through their boots, cutting through leather and severing the tendon of the ankle.

Once again they cry out and stumble to the ground, but that doesn’t stop their assault as they lob another cast of black magic at her. Byleth dodges and sends her own white magic to counter with Nosferatu.

For whatever reason, it seems to really sting them as they practically shriek when the light from her spell sears into their flesh. And she actually _hears_ it sizzling.

It’s that sound that has Uncle Seteth running to the main room, and upon seeing Byleth with the intruder, he takes the fire iron against the hearth and rushes toward them, pointing it at the suspicious individual.

“Who are you?!” he shouts. “What business do you have here breaking into our home?!”

But the figure doesn’t respond. Instead he lifts an arm to cast another spell but Byleth digs her dagger into their bicep and Uncle Seteth stabs their other arm all the way through, yanking out the iron, and the assailant shrieks again. The intruder looks from Uncle Seteth, to her, and then mumbles something before they start to convulse.

Some strange runes in a ghastly purple light appear on the mask. The arcane symbols burst and a searing flash pops out from the eye sockets of the covering, and then the intruder falls still.

Uncle Seteth stays frozen where he is. Byleth doesn’t move either. Then he nudges the fire iron against the person’s side, but they’re as immovable as a corpse.

Which Byleth sees is exactly what this person is once she takes off the mask. Their face is gone, replaced with just a skull, and Uncle Seteth mutters a prayer at the horror of seeing it. Byleth inspects the stranger’s robes, but there’s nothing notable about it.

They’re wearing gloves, and so when she removes them, there’s a strange tattoo on the back of their hand. Some lattice pattern with a serrated diagonal line embedded in it. The other notable thing here, is that the skin on this person’s hand is stark white.

“Hmm, no personal affects,” she notes aloud, “but this marking here… I’ve never seen it before. Uncle, what do you—”

He looks like he’s seen a ghost as he stares wide eyed at the hand. The color has drained from his face, and the fire iron slips from his grip, clattering loudly on the ground. That’s the look of a man haunted by a memory, and now she’s sure his half-truth from before must have some longer explanation he didn’t want to revisit for his own sense of sanity, at the very least.

“What’s wrong?” she asks, standing back up to meet up. “Uncle.” He doesn’t respond. “ _Uncle Seteth_.”

The man comes back to his senses, but he still looks awfully pale, even in the moonlight framing him. “Your meeting with this pirate from before… he did not say exactly who might be after us?”

“No,” she replies carefully. “Just that they might’ve killed Father.”

“Perhaps, then, a rogue he is, but a liar he’s not.”

“Uncle?”

He lights the fireplace, bringing the room alight with an orange glow. He stares at the dancing flame for only a minute, rubbing at his green beard. But it’s a long silent minute, enough that Flayn actually comes out of her room and asks if the commotion is over. She stays away from the corpse, retreating to her father’s side, hands over her mouth in shock.

When he notices her there, he looks almost… sad. He holds his daughter in a tight embrace, gently, protectively, turning her gaze away from the cooling body on the floor.

“My dearest niece,” he says to Byleth, looking genuinely remorseful, “I know you will not like it, but, I’m afraid we must move back to Fhirdiad.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I decided to update this story as new chapters are finished, instead of waiting for a bunch to be done.
> 
> But this fic will still be updated slowly since it's not a priority. My main Claudeleth fic comes first. I'm also writing another fic for a different Byleth ship on the side as well, so. Yeah. But hey, thanks so much for the interest in it already! That's definitely a huge motivator for me to keep going. 💕
> 
> Just so I don't mislead anyone curious about it: no this isn't a Dimileth fic. That's why I didn't tag it. It's always been a pet peeve of mine in fics where every single ship is tagged even if it's just something in the background/brief cameos, if it's heavily one-sided, isn't endgame, or doesn't appear enough to warrant it to be listed in the main ship(s) tag. I always found it to be poor fic etiquette _buuut_ that's just me. Not trying to throw shade at anyone in particular either, I promise. 😅 It's merely an assurance I won't do this so as not to disappoint people coming into a story for a certain bonus ship that doesn't even happen or doesn't have the same kind of relevance as the primary ship.
> 
> Anyway, I'm excited to share the next chapter of this whenever it comes out. Oh, a final note: please be aware the years I list here are a hybrid of the fictional universe of FE3H, and the real-life time period of the Golden Age of Piracy we're familiar with today. So our real world year of 1785, pirates were already roughly 50 years "extinct" by this point. But since this a work of fiction, and if medieval-inspired Fodlan of the canon-verse can have miniskirts, I can also do whatever I want in my own story. LOL
> 
> I'll see you all next update! ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ


	3. Log 3: Return to Fhirdiad

#### Log 3: Return to Fhirdiad

_**Fhirdiad, Holy Kingdom of Faerghus  
Lone Moon, 1785 **_ ****

It’s a sad affair for the church community to see Byleth and her family depart from Narroway. But after being told of the horrific break-in where someone was likely intending to harm them, everyone put aside their personal feelings to agree it’s best they leave to a more secure location.

Uncle Seteth had written a letter to Dimitri—the contents of it Byleth knows not—and sent it away in express post. He said it’s to inform him they’ll be rooting themselves in Fhirdiad again, but Byleth has lived with this man for her whole life to know when he’s omitting truths.

Over the few days it takes to get there, Ashe promises that he and his escort party will get them to the capital safely. He makes good on that, as by the end of the week, they’re back in the big city without incident.

And at the gate waiting for them, is Dedue.

“Byleth,” he greets her from outside the carriage, dressed in full armor, “it’s been too long. Hello, Father Seteth, and Flayn.” He doesn’t look any different from how she remembers him. Still massive in height and build, and broad-shouldered. His silver hair stands out against his darker skintone.

“Hey Dedue. Nice seeing you again.”

“Deddles!” Flayn greets with a wave. “Oh, you always seem like you’ve grown so much taller! Has it really been three years?”

He smiles—a rare sight from the stoic man. “It has.”

“Good afternoon, Sir Dedue,” her uncle replies politely. “I take it His Highness received my missive?”

“He did; it’s why I’m here. I’ve already told Lord Ashe to take you to the palace.”

The palace? She thought they were going to lodge at one of the many inns found around the city. Boo on her then to assume anything will go logically nowadays.

“Dedue,” Ashe sighs, coming into view from Byleth’s carriage window. “I told you ‘Ashe’ is just fine. You don’t need to be so formal with me. We’re friends, aren’t we?”

“While true, I represent His Highness, and so I must act accordingly.”

Ashe shakes his head, but otherwise doesn’t fuss anymore.

The closer they get to the palace, the more Byleth’s stomach starts to flip. Not that she’s excited to meet Dimitri. And not that she’s opposed to seeing him. It’s just… she feels awkward now.

Because as much as she tries to tell herself it’s false, that itching worry that Dimitri might have a crush on her is starting to chip away at her defenses.

Well, she can handle a crush. Or simple feelings. But if it goes beyond that—goddess forbid—that she somehow finds out he’s legitimately in love with her and has been for years—oh boy. 

Flayn casts her a glance when Byleth keeps rumpling her skirts in her lap. Uncle Seteth notices too. His brow is furrowed the slightest bit. When the carriage stops, and Ashe announces they’re here, her uncle gives her a mild apologetic look, one that needs no words.

She makes sure her coat is buttoned up tight, and coif properly secure. Maybe if she makes herself as modest as possible, she can slip away unnoticed at the first opportunity.

Byleth takes Ashe’s hand when he offers it to her to help her out of the carriage. Dedue does the same with Flayn, who gives him a playful curtsy in gratitude. The sounds around her are muffled out the more she anticipates seeing Dimitri again. She numbly follows Uncle Seteth’s lead as Dedue escorts them through the massive halls of the Fhirdiad royal palace. With its high ceilings, she feels dwarfed. Almost claustrophobic, if that’s even possible.

While the castle is grand, it was always a little dark for her tastes. Too many blue tones from the banners and the ceilings. The tall windows also have blue curtains tied back. It always looks… cold, whenever she’s here. The addition of potted plants to spruce up the atmosphere helps a little, but even summers here look visibly chilly all day.

They pass through the courtyard where several nobles are taking strolls in the snow-dusted gardens. Either by the hedges or bushes of flowers, or by the fountain. Right. The ball is soon. In a few days, actually. Yet another thing she’s not looking forward to.

When they get to the throne room, Dimitri is there, speaking with servants of all kinds. Most likely going over everything there is to double-check before the festivities begin. Some are shoving fabric swatches in his face, or trying to get him to taste something that’ll no doubt be on the menu. He looks a little distressed as he just nods along. Goddess, she hopes Dedue can fix this. Poor Dimitri doesn’t have a very good sense of taste. He can’t even tell the difference between cinnamon and chili flakes.

Rodrigue is also there, as is Gilbert. His advisors of sorts, and lords of their own territories, Fraldarius and Dominic respectively. Or at least Rodrigue is. Last Byleth knew, Gilbert renounced his noble title to become a Kingdom knight full-time.

Dimitri notices his new guests immediately, or maybe it’s because Dedue has an imposing figure to those who don’t know him. But it’s difficult to ignore his presence, despite how quiet he is.

The prince smiles at them and gives her and her family a polite bow. Something other nobles would frown at. A crown heir, bowing to anyone but their king father or the hypothetical appearance of Sothis, the divine progenitor? ‘Preposterous,’ some would say.

But that’s one thing she can safely say she does find endearing about Dimitri. His status as royalty has never made him act or feel like he’s above anyone else.

“Father Seteth,” he greets, and the servants are gently dismissed. “I’m relieved you’ve arrived without trouble.”

“A blessing from the goddess,” he replies. Bowing to him in return, he then says, “Thank you humbly for an audience.”

An audience? For what? Why doesn’t anyone ever tell her what’s going on?

“Hello, Prince Dimitri!” Flayn chirps. “I’m glad to see you are well!” Standing in front of him, in her white habit, her tiny cousin looks like a finely polished pawn piece against a palace pillar.

He gives her a kind smile in return. “Thank you, Flayn. I hope you are also faring just as well?”

Even when he was younger, he’s always been on the tall side. But now as a young adult, he’s rather big. Not like Dedue. Dimitri is leaner. But he has grown into his body instead of being a gangly teenager. His blond hair’s longer too and tied up in a short ponytail. Much like Ashe’s, his facial structure has also sharpened, and she can at least admit he’s what one would consider exceptionally handsome.

But looks alone were always last on her list of whether or not she liked someone, in any sense of the word.

“Yes I am, aside from that… erm… scare, at our home in Narroway.”

“Understandable. Well, there is no need to fret further. Here, in the palace, you will have the utmost security so you can go about your days without worry. Your lodging has already been prepared for you and examined by my trusted friends for extra safety.”

Huh? _Lodging_? What the fuck?

“You are far too kind, Your Highness,” Uncle Seteth says with a relieved smile. He bows again. “I don’t know how I’ll ever repay you.”

“There is no need, I promise. You and your family are friends. And I’m glad you came to me with this concern. I will do all that I can to ensure you will not be harmed.”

Finally, he looks at Byleth. His wider smile from before shrinks a bit in what she can only assume is mild bashfulness. Which looks odd on a 23-year-old, 6-foot-2 tall man in full armor and wearing a thick cape lined with fur. The contentment on his face when he gazes at her is almost childlike, in that schoolboy-ish way. The kind that accompanies a blush, which she hopes is just her imagination playing tricks on her when she thinks she sees the slightest tint of rose on his cheeks.

“Byleth, hi—um, good afternoon,” he says with a bow. “It’s been a while since we’ve last met.”

Three years, actually. But she’s not counting. “Yes, it has. Hello, Dimitri,” she replies with a curtsy. “I’m glad to see you’re doing better.”

“I am, yes. But I wouldn’t have without your assistance.”

When Dimitri was young, around 14 years old, his parents died tragically in an attempted coup. Blamed on the Duscurians despite several Kingdom soldiers being thrown into the mix. But Dimitri is empathetic enough, and smart enough, to know not everything is black and white. And since he’s come of age to no longer need a regent in place, he’s done what he can to ease the tension between the two cultures.

Still, he didn’t get there on his own. A few years later, when she was still being mentored by her uncle, Byleth essentially became Dimitri’s confidant. Rodrigue thought it fitting he have someone like her to listen to his woes after seeing how withdrawn the prince had become, even toward his childhood friends. Being that he was 17 at the time, having a person outside of the nobility to confide in would be great. Byleth was the right age, and in the right occupation to help him. (All of this told to her later by Uncle Seteth.)

Maybe that’s why the prince has followed her around like a puppy ever since. At least before she moved away, when she started getting concerned their bi-weekly meetings were less and less about his dark thoughts or his nightmares, and more along the lines of ‘activities’ like taking a walk in the royal gardens, or treating her to fine dinners.

The look he’s giving her now, at his adult age and adult stature, reminds her too much of that fact.

“I will always help when needed or asked,” Byleth replies. “It’s my duty, but beyond that, I genuinely enjoy it.”

“You are a kind soul,” he compliments. “I am, um… grateful, that you took time out of your days to listen to me.”

She’s glad she doesn’t need to reply, since Rodrigue and Gilbert approach them, either one standing beside the young prince. He towers over them both, and they’re not short men either.

“Father Seteth,” Rodrigue greets. “Nice to have you back. Although, under the circumstances, I suppose it isn’t so pleasant.”

“Unfortunately, you are correct. But I meant what I said, that in return, I will assist with sermons in the palace’s personal chapel, as will my daughter, and niece.”

Byleth snaps her line of sight to her uncle, though he doesn’t look at her. Flayn frowns but remains silent. She brushes her fingers against Byleth’s hand for support.

“You look surprised, Sister Byleth,” Gilbert says. “But you do fantastic work with healing. Perhaps even on par with Sister Mercedes. I’m sure she can use a hand in the recovery wing.”

“…Of course.”

“You seem to be faring well,” Rodrigue mentions. With an almost playful, paternal nudge with his upper arm—very slight, as is fitting for a noble, he continues, “Do you not agree, Your Highness?”

When Dimitri grows pinker in the face, and doesn’t look at her, Byleth’s stomach drops to the depths of the forever after.

Gilbert smiles faintly. “Annette tells me you’ve been doing a lot of cooking. From the letters you write to her, apparently your food continues to become more delicious every day. I am curious to try it. As I’m sure His Highness would be as well.”

“Oh, no I,” Dimitri shakes his head, and lightly waves his hands, “Miss Byleth, do not listen to—my palette has yet to resurface anyway, despite Dedue’s many attempts to cook me a variety of meals and—”

“Perhaps, it needs a different touch,” suggests Gilbert. “One unfamiliar to you.”

A touch of what? She’s tasted Dedue’s food before. It’s fucking delicious. She’s nowhere near as advanced as he is when it comes to culinary skills. And so she’s _sure_ he’s properly seasoning everything.

Uncle Seteth clears his throat. “I do not mean to impose, but, we’ve had a long journey, and I’m sure Flayn and Byleth would like to rest.”

“Of course,” Dimitri says quickly. Likely wanting to sever that trail of conversation, wherever it was intending to head. Good. “Please, follow me.”

Thankfully, Rodrigue and Gilbert don’t follow them. Instead they excuse themselves to handle other matters. Byleth sort of wishes they would’ve at least apologized for making her uncomfortable. But maybe they didn’t know, since she has a phenomenally neutral face at almost all times.

On the way to where they’ll be staying, other nobles around stop to greet Dimitri. Many of whom are women. (They act coquettishly flustered, but he seems to be the only one truly embarrassed at all the attention.) Byleth, on the other hand, is invisible to them, which is good. People are more likely to notice Uncle Seteth because of the way he carries himself. Or Flayn, because of her bubbly personality and being able to strike up a friendly conversation with anyone.

Byleth is perfectly fine blending into the background, in contrast.

Their ‘lodging’ is fancy, to say the least. It’s in the wing where Dimitri’s chambers are since it ‘has the best defenses’. (Sure, that _must_ be the true reason.) The den of their new abode is larger than their whole house back in Narroway, and everyone gets their own room now. But she’d honestly prefer to keep sharing one with Flayn, something Uncle Seteth actually suggests.

“Of course,” Dimitri agrees. “I understand. You are free to arrange yourselves however you wish. This entire chamber is yours.”

She guesses that includes a generous bathing room, their own private latrine, and even a little kitchen corner. Likely so they don’t have to leave as much. Less opportunities for someone to try and sneak up on them.

“I see your belongings have already been brought in,” Dimitri points out to their luggage clustered together near the couch. “I have some things to attend to, but if you ever need anything,” and he looks at _her_ specifically, “please, do not be afraid to ask. I am here to help however I can.”

“Thank you, Prince Dimitri,” Uncle Seteth says. “Our family truly owes you a great debt.”

“None is necessary, I can assure you.”

With a smile and a polite bow, he leaves them. It’s only after a few seconds does Byleth finally release the breath that she had been holding.

“You didn’t tell me we were staying here,” Byleth nearly snaps at her uncle.

“It was a hasty decision,” he admits, “but until we know who is after us, Prince Dimitri can offer the best protection. He already has people looking into it.”

“And what was it you would’ve bartered had he not agreed? My hand?”

“Byleth, please, you know I would never ‘give’ you away like a prized cow.” And he actually looks offended. Not that it makes her feel any less calm.

“Dimitri might not want anything,” she starts, “but I _know_ you heard what Rodrigue and Gilbert were implying. You wouldn’t have cut them off otherwise. Especially Gilbert. ‘A different touch’? Like a woman’s, perhaps? As if that matters when it concerns cooking. I have a feeling next he was going to ask if I could sew or do laundry well.”

Thank the goddess Dimitri’s uncle, Rufus, wasn’t there. She can’t stand that man. A womanizer to the bone, to the point where even Sylvain has contempt for him. (And that’s saying _a lot_.) Such a man probably would’ve pointed out her ‘birthing’ hips or that her ‘bountiful’ breasts would produce the finest milk for the Kingdom’s next heir. Faerghus almost fell to ruin because of him. It’s why Dimitri had to take the throne early, when he was only 18, and fully unprepared to handle such a burden.

Maybe that’s why Rodrigue had him spend so much time with her. To put him on the fast road to recovery, when she knows better than most it’s going to take more than few chats and confessionals for him to fully process his trauma. She only knows how to heal physical wounds. Ones of the mind, of the heart, and of the soul, she’s just as lost as anyone else.

Uncle Seteth sighs. “I am sorry,” and he does sound remorseful, but it’s not enough for her, “that your anxieties about all of this keep getting closer and closer to a solid assurance that the prince… has feelings for you.”

It’s pretty much a damn fact at this point, and she’s only been around Dimitri for a total of maybe 15 minutes. “Not like we get to choose who we have feelings for.”

She’s not much in a mood to do anything else for the rest of the day. At first, she says she’ll try to bring in the other bed from the spare room since she’ll be sharing with Flayn again. But the thing is too big, and it would have to be disassembled in pieces. Flayn says not to bother; she doesn’t mind sharing a bed with Byleth. It’s pretty large anyhow.

And so, she spends most of the day napping.

Her two relatives come and go. It’s only around dinnertime that they stay rooted to their new quarters. Dedue and Ashe visit then, offering to cook them something since they must be tired from traveling. Ashe himself should be tired too, but he looks pleasantly happy in the kitchen alongside the much larger man as they chat about this and that.

Such accommodations are nice, she has to admit. It’s what finally tempers her sour mood, and later helps her sleep peacefully.

  
  
  
⟣ ⋯ ⟡ ⋯ ⟢  
  
  
  


With the ball coming up soon, Byleth has absolutely nothing to wear. She doesn’t care either, but she can’t say no when Mercedes and Annette ask if she wants to go shopping. Flayn comes along too, after Byleth spent half an hour convincing Uncle Seteth that she’ll be fine in her care.

The four girls browse several shops in the city. Including Flayn, all of them have a dress and matching accessories by the time the late afternoon rolls around.

Except herself, of course.

“You still haven’t found anything, Leth!” Annette points out. “Aren’t you excited?”

Byleth shrugs.

Mercedes chuckles softly. “These sorts of things were never to your liking, were they?”

“No,” she responds plainly.

“Oh, I’m sorry, Leth,” apologizes Annette. “I only wanted us to hang out since we can’t just do it whenever.”

“I’m not angry, don’t worry.” She’s just unenthused about finding a dress for a stuffy event she’ll only attend for the free food. “I’m glad we get to spend time together again.” And she really means that. She hopes her smile lets them know it.

“Ah, Leth,” Flayn tugs on her sleeve, “what about that one over there? It seems like something you’d like.”

They go to the corner of the store with a wooden mannequin. There, draping over it, is the most inconspicuous dress Byleth has seen all day. It’s a deep blue with a high collar. Long sleeves, and no form. No pinching around the waist from a damn corset, and enough fabric that most of her curves will be hidden. Absolutely plain and unassuming.

“It’s perfect,” and feels herself smile when she says it.

When she asks the shopkeeper about it, the woman looks confused. Asks why she’d want such a thing when it’s their most unpopular style. It’s heavily discounted as a result. But when she finally notices the translucent veil resting on Byleth’s seafoam locks, it’s as if the wheels start turning in the shopkeeper’s head.

Her measurements are taken, and the woman says it’ll need to be tailored, but she can have it done before the ball. Since noblewomen get their dresses from higher end stores, she doesn’t have a lot of current orders.

“My only request is you make it as un-formfitting as possible,” Byleth mentions.

“Of course, Sister. I completely understand.”

With that out of the way, and the girls already thinking up ways to doll her up to match her dress, there’s nothing left to do except head back to the palace. But this lane they’re currently on, the next one over should be…

“Excuse me,” she pokes her head out the window to address the coachwoman with sky blue hair, “but I was wondering if you’ll take us on a little detour first before heading back?”

“Yes, I don’t mind, Miss,” she replies with a nod. “Dorte likes the exercise.”

She gives her directions, and then the girls ask Byleth where they’re going when they notice the change of route. But she doesn’t tell them until they get to a house right next to an abandoned smithy.

Her father’s old shop.

“Ah,” Flayn notes quietly. “I see. Do you… want us to accompany you?”

“No, I’d like a few minutes to myself. Won’t be long, I promise.”

“Take all the time you need,” Mercedes says gently. “We can wait.”

Annette only nods encouragingly.

Byleth goes around the back since the house is boarded up. Ever since they moved, Dimitri has made sure no one live here. Maybe out of respect, or some hope that she might want to come back eventually.

He had given her the key that day once all essentials had been moved out. She has it with her now, fishing it out of the pocket on her apron. Byleth jimmies the thing a bit to get the tumbler to unlock correctly, the it finally clicks, and she pushes the door open as the hinges moan with age.

It’s dark, and dusty. The windows are also boarded up, so she doesn’t have much light in here except for what little slivers can filter through the cracks. She wipes her finger along the kitchen counter, and a little mound of dust collects on the pad.

Unlike most homes, the walls are just painted a plain beige. No organic motifs like flowers or vines. Just solid. Unassuming. The sconces are probably filled with dust too. The mantle above the fireplace is. She thinks she sees little mouse droppings scattered on there. Well, at least someone has been making use of this home.

As she ascends the stairway, the wooden steps creak and groan. Has it really been that long since she’s lived here? Only about three years. Then again, the house was here way before her family took residence in it.

Every room up on the second floor is empty. Including her father’s. The bed is bare, and the only other thing in here is the dresser. Everything else had been cleared out and sold long ago. His clothes, books, and knickknacks. The rug is gone too. But she’s not here to reminisce, as much as she’d like to.

If the pirate from Narroway was right about people coming after her and her family, then that must mean they haven’t found the treasure map. It has to be here because she doesn’t know where else Jeralt might’ve hidden it.

Byleth gently taps her heel on the floorboards, but they all make the same sound. She goes to the walls next, gently knocking every few inches to see where the planks of the foundation are, and the empty spaces in between.

Consistent sounds all throughout the four walls.

Next, she checks the drawers for false bottoms, but they’re all untouched from whoever carved the thing. The legs are wide enough to hide a scroll, but no, those are as-is too. Her father didn’t have very many material possessions. The bed is the only other thing in the room, so…

“I wonder…?”

She gets on her knees and takes out her dagger from her bag. Starts ripping into the mattress to see if there’s anything hidden here. But nothing’s in there except springs and cotton.

“Huh,” she never knew her father’s bed didn’t have the planks like most other bed frames. This one instead has just a solid board of wood, “maybe…”

Byleth knocks on it every few inches. But nothing, still. Although, something curious about his bed is that, despite being the standard height, he never had an empty space underneath for storage. Whenever she had a bad dream as a child, she couldn’t hide under there because it was just wood.

Bracing herself, she pushes the bed away. It’s made of considerably sturdy wood, too thick to cut normally with a dagger or even blast through it with a pistol. Taking deep breaths in and out to pace herself, she manages to slide the piece of furniture away from where it was. And that’s when she sees a section of the floor cut into a square.

There’s a lock on it.

Leave it to Jeralt to hide something secret underneath his heavy bed. One that’d take considerable strength or time to move. And also be a piece of furniture that someone would need to get through him first before they can even think of moving the thing.

She sits down in front of the little nook and traces her finger over the keyhole. A thought comes to her as she ponders over where he could’ve hidden the key.

“Just out of curiosity…,” she takes out the house key from her pocket, “might you do the trick? It always was strange you never could get the house to open up quite right.”

Her breath catches in her throat when she inserts it, and the lock turns easily. Pulse racing, she lifts the door and finds a mini chest. It’s made from metal, and the seal is like a puzzle pattern instead of the normal straight cut like all other chests. This one has a lock too, but with a different keyhole than the key she currently has. Looks strange, though. It’s a small, circle-shaped hole.

She brushes her thumb over the silver lock, and then drops the thing when it pricks her. Byleth sucks on her thumb to stop the bleeding.

The clasp comes undone. Underneath the thing is a strange rune engraved on it. Did this thing need her blood for it to unlock? Did Jeralt know how to use the magic arts too?

Questions she might not ever get answers to. But she can start finding them in the leather-bound journal within the chest. That’s all that’s in here, aside from the key hidden in the spine.

If Jeralt needed this many locks for his belongings, then she doesn’t even want to imagine what records are contained in a tangible collection of his memories.

Byleth sets the key in the hole and the clasp comes undone. There are a lot of entries in here, but from what she can skim, the dates are spread out. And the pages are frayed at the edges. For parchment, they’re kind of thick too, actually. Jeralt also only wrote on one-side of each page. The blank sides are smudged with ink stains; probably the reason for leaving them as such.

She can’t read this here, though. The girls are waiting for her downstairs in the carriage. Byleth closes the journal again and stows it away in the mini chest. It locks immediately once the lid closes. While small enough to put in her bag, it’s heavier than it looks, so hopefully her gait won’t be off from anyone watching her.

After making sure she’s locked the house, she returns to the carriage, apologizing for taking so long.

“It’s quite alright,” the coachwoman says. “I understand needing a moment alone to think or ponder on memories of what once was. Are you okay though, Sister?”

“Yes,” she says with a nod. “Thank you.”

When she takes her seat, and the carriage is off again, she apologizes to her friends too.

“Don’t worry about a thing,” Mercedes says to her. “You were taking time to yourself. Are you feeling better?”

If by better, she means anxious to uncover the truths she seeks, then yes. “More or less, yeah.”

“That’s good!” Annette chirps. “How about we stop somewhere for lunch?”

“Oh!” Flayn claps. “Yes! How about a quaint little restaurant near a bakery? So that we may also have jelly-filled buns topped with cinnamon!”

She and Annette hum excitedly about the prospect of stuffing their faces with the sweets, while Mercedes only smiles fondly at them. Byleth does too, hoping it’s convincing enough that they don’t notice her bouncing foot underneath her skirts.

The moment she’s finally left alone to herself in her room back at the castle, she’s going to read through everything in her father’s journal. If there’s anything in there that can help her uncover who exactly these mystery assailants are, perhaps she might even get a chance to avenge her father.

‘Kill them with kindness,’ is what Uncle Seteth taught her. But she decided long ago that sometimes being too merciful is detrimental. Keeping his words in mind, however… if given the opportunity to find Jeralt’s murderer, she’ll at least be kind enough to end their life swiftly.

Byleth will make sure the last thing they see is her face as her dagger plunges into their chest and pierces their heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I added a new tag to this work. Again, this isn't a Dimileth fic, but, as you all saw in this chapter, there are still one-sided feelings going on. Felt like tagging this story to reflect that will help in understanding what this fic will entail, ha ha.
> 
> I'm impatient and want to bring back Claude again, but I also like writing about the Lions. I've never really written fics around them before since the Deer are my absolute favorites, but the Lions are the group I like second.
> 
> I'll see you all next update! ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ


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